


In Stark Contrast

by Lxck



Series: Howlett - Holmes Universe [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Sherlock Holmes (Downey films), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Wolverine (Movies), X-Men (Movies)
Genre: Canon Divergence - Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Established Logan/Sherlock, M/M, Mpreg, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Sherlock and Tony are Brothers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-15
Updated: 2018-01-06
Packaged: 2018-06-08 12:17:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6854350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lxck/pseuds/Lxck
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Does Steve know?”<br/>“Does Logan?”</p><p>Misery. What a lovely name for a baby.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own any of the characters in the following story. They belong to their respective studios and what not. This is not posted for profit, but for spreading the Logan/Sherlock relationship.

_“Does Steve know?”_

_"_ **Does Logan?”**                                                      

~*~

**3:26 AM**

Tony sat back against the cold tile, hand pressing through his hair and half expecting some of it to fall out. But when he removed his hand, nothing came away. No sudden disease that would make this all go away in a few short months. No easy copout this time. His stomach turned again and he swallowed the groan, eyes closed as he pressed his hands to his face in hopes of transferring the cold. Any minor soothing he could find was appreciated. He lasted another two minutes before he had to surge forward, hands out and grasping the sides of the toilet bowl and emptied the little contents of his stomach. Shuddering, he fell to the side, bare chest slick with his mild fever. As if his emotional state was miserable enough, now his body decided to multiply his misery.

 _Misery. What a **lovely** name for a baby_ , he thought dryly, turning his head to rest his forehead against the tile. The door to the master bathroom opened and Tony barely had the energy to roll his head back the other way to see who it was. Not like there were many options. Pepper had left after Tony had admitted to his one night affair; Vision stayed at the compound to wait for Wanda to come back; Friday would have announced Rhodes’ presence. His brother stood there, his ex-partners shirt hanging limply from his frame. A second Stark child must have been too much for their parents, Tony didn’t sit around and try to understand their reasoning, but the fact of the matter was Sherlock had been sent to London and adopted by a mildly wealthy family. After observing the plentiful news resources regarding Tony and the Avengers, Sherlock’s uncanny likeness to the billionaire couldn’t be ignored. So there he was, and Tony was in no state to turn people- to turn _family_ \- away.

In spectacularly ironic fashion only Starks could endure, they fell for their own respective World War Two veterans and would, as fate demanded, undergo this terrible political schism while both with child. But Sherlock knew his brother was taking the worst of this. While still separated, at least Logan and Sherlock were in the background, they didn’t have to face one another. Perhaps that made it worse. Sherlock didn’t have an excuse not to tell Logan; Tony still had to save face. At least he could tell himself that.

Sitting behind Tony, Sherlock laid a cold wash cloth over his brothers shoulders, murmuring something about this part would pass eventually. Or he’d simply get used to feeling like shit both outside and inside. Tony banked on the latter, swallowing yet another groan as he curled into a tight ball. It didn’t _hurt_ , but it was far from pleasant. Fingers pressed through his hair, a liquid voice filling his head. Smooth like their mothers’. “How’s your eye?”

“Least of my fucking problems, right now.” Tony strained, closing his eyes and breathing slowly. “They didn’t get Logan, did they? He wasn’t on the raft when I went, but who fucking knows. Coulda sent him back to weapon-” A grimace and he swallowed bile. “Back to weapon X.”

“Last I heard, he was with the… Xmen.” Sherlock murmured, throat tightening as he realized it meant Logan and Scott were reunited again. And when Logan left with Steve and Sherlock couldn’t just leave his brother… He was with Scott. Undoubtedly. And that, despite how much it hurt him to think about it, Sherlock couldn’t deny was a better alternative to prison or Weapon X. “They won’t let anything happen to him.”

“You think he’d stay with Scott over you? Especially now?”

“I don’t know, but I can’t risk him leaving the safety of the mansion. Even for this. We can’t contact them.”

“Still a chance he’d choose you, though. Over Scott. Maybe even Victor.” Tony’s voice managed to be dry while hoarse, conveying all of the sarcasm even when he had nothing left to hide. “No chance in hell Steve comes back… Not when he has that fucki--”

Sherlock moved away, watching as Tony surged up and gripped the toilet again. But his hand soon rubbed down the older man’s back, humming quietly. “I don’t think that’s--”

“You weren’t there. You didn’t see… You didn’t…” His breath was coming faster, nails scraping against the porcelain bowl without purchase. Tony had been wrong. _This_ was absolute misery. He couldn’t breathe, everything just felt _wrong_. Water was running somewhere, and it didn’t register Sherlock had turned the shower on before a cold towel was wrapped around his entire chest, water rolling down and dampening his pants. But it brought him back. Finally managing to sit up, knees pressed to his chest, Tony pulled the soaking wet towel around him, shocking himself out of the attack. “This isn’t going to be a constant thing, right?”

“The panic attacks or the vomiting?” Sherlock was standing, grabbing extra towels out of the closet to mop up the water. “Morning sickness varies, but it shouldn’t last all day. Only spike during certain periods. If you’re lucky, it will be constant. But, seeing our situation…”

The older brother laughed, a shiver beginning to rock his body. He was coming down from the fever. Rapidly. Sluggishly, he pulled the towel off of him, dropping it in the corner of the shower with a sickly wet ‘slop’ sound. Sherlock was already there with a dry towel, gently working it over his skin as Tony sighed. “What are we going to do, Sherly?”

“I don’t know…”


	2. The Silent Sound of Loneliness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own any of the characters. TW for Abortion Mention/Contemplation.

**9:42 AM || S t a r k   M a n s i o n**

Cooking was a difficult craft, Sherlock decided as he fussed with a pot and pushed the eggs around at the bottom of it. Perhaps his first mistake was taking a pot, but he hadn’t been in a conscious mind space to make decisions about what cookware to use. It had been the first thing he grabbed and that was it. However, his second mistake was wholly his fault, but of course he deflected any such accusations. He didn’t _know_ how to cook, so he couldn’t be held responsible for however terrible the eggs were once they hit the plate. His eating habits were far from normal, but if he chose to carry this child to term, and he did despite his better judgment and the terrible situation it was being born into, he would have to start eating regularly. As would Tony. And that was the real reason he stood there, bare feet moving across the tiled floor to grab a second plate.

Tony needed someone to take care of him. Tony, who was still asleep after finally managing to rest around six in the morning, would and did say the same about Sherlock. But versed in the matters of human decisions, Sherlock knew it was simply a matter of projection. And if that was what it took for Tony to begin _facing_ his issues, then Sherlock would be that. In return, Sherlock had a companion who could understand and ultimately keep up with his scientific ramblings and experiments. They were good for one another. And that, Sherlock decided as he put the pot in the sink and turned the water on to allow it to soak, was exactly how they would endure this strain of misery. Together.

Satisfied with letting the pot sit to soak, Sherlock turned his phone towards him to check his messages. Not sure _why_ he had done it. The moment they arrested those sided with Steve, he had blocked Logan’s number and deleted it. If there was any contact, if there was _any_ way it could be traced back to him… Logan did not do well in cages, Sherlock knew as much and the last thing he wanted was to be the very reason the man was put back in one. Still, he checked his phone, some part of him hoping Logan would have found other means to contact him. A pause, then the man cursed quietly. Logan thought he was upset with him. Or worse, Logan thought he ideologically agreed with the Accords, and ultimately with Superhero and Mutant registration.  And of course it didn’t help that whatever texts Logan might have tried sending, whatever calls he might have tried to make hadn’t gotten through.

He didn’t agree with the Accords, not for Logan or other mutants, at least. Perhaps with self proclaimed heroes, he could learn to agree, but not in the sense where they were to respond solely to what the government wished. Much like his detective career, he enjoyed the freedom to go or to stay. To help the authorities when necessary, but to help those the authorities turned away as well. Here, there was no middle ground.

But he wasn’t going to leave Tony. Not in his state, which had been confirmed a week before the team went to Lagos. Nor in any other state. Sherlock was there for him. And Tony had said there would be room for revisions and rewrites. He would just have to wait. This, of course, did Sherlock little good in that moment as he stared intently at his phone screen and wished the father of his unborn child would contact him. Tony had his excuse, a bloody good excuse, too. And perhaps Sherlock had one as well. If Logan ever knew, he’d come out to see him, to see them, and risk getting himself caught. But Sherlock wasn’t entirely certain that was the sole reason he avoided telling Logan. There was something... _Else_. Something he didn’t entirely understand nor could put into words. And that was maddening. This was the trouble of affection and romance? He missed the days he was avoided for being synonymous with a machine.

Logan expertly, or perhaps daftly, ignored that. His tactic had been annoyance and pestering, and he ended his troubles with a grin and a kiss followed by a quiet ‘You can’t annoy a machine.’

Snorting, Sherlock pushed his phone away. Logan was a bloody idiot. Yet there _he_ was, still pregnant by that very same idiot. He had known a few weeks before Lagos, before this whole mess but he had said nothing. After so much time, however, he was certain Logan would also question his hesitance. Why breech the subject when he still hadn’t an explanation?

“Coffee.” Tony’s voice broke him from his thoughts and Sherlock glanced over his shoulder, thankful for the distraction. The older brother wrinkled his nose as the scent of eggs and whatever Sherlock had put in them hit him. “Tryin’ ta make me sick again? What the hell did you use?”

“You can’t have coffee.” A cup of tea was put on the island bar beside Tony’s plate, soon followed by a fork. “I haven’t exactly ever made my own food before, but I was _trying_ to have something ready for you when you woke. It’s not bad; I’ve already had a plate. You need to eat, Anthony.”

After a low grumble and something that sounded like an insult, Tony sat down and stared at his food with a grimace. Sherlock watched him, lips pressed together as he began composing a list of possible arguments he could use to get Tony to resort his eating habits. If he had to rethink his eating habits. Blinking, Sherlock moved around the counter to take the stool beside him, expression softening as Tony hesitantly began to eat.

“Are you keeping it?”

Tony stilled, body tense. But he forced himself to swallow another forkful of questionable eggs. “Too early in the morning for this, Sherly.” He offered, then sighed, stabbing the eggs a little harder than before. “I don’t know… I don’t know. Are you keeping--?”

“Yes.” Sherlock had reached his decision before this whole mess. And while said mess had disrupted the overall plan, it didn’t change his mind. “But the matter is far less complicated than yours…”

That granted him a small huff, some of the tension dispelling between them, but Sherlock knew it did little to help Tony. “Got a whole fucking lists of reasons _not_ to go through with this.”

“You do. But have you any reason _to_ do this?”

Silence fell between them, and was slowly broken by Tony returning to his breakfast. Sherlock didn’t expect his brother to have an answer, but they did have a limited time to consider all options. He simply didn’t want Tony to get four months into this, six months, two years, however long, and regret it. But he didn’t push. They had a few weeks still. Tony cleared his throat, pushing a mostly empty plate away and checking his phone. “I have a meeting with Ross today. Might go to the compound after, check in on Rhodey and Vision.”

“Do you need me to come?” The younger brother cleared the food, dropping it in the soaking pot and then pushing Tony’s tea towards him again, urging him to drink it.

“Maybe,” Tony took the tea mug as he stood just to appease the other man. “I’ll call ya when I get to the compound, see if there’s anything you can do to help. You okay here by yourself?”

“There’s a lab, I will be fine.”

With a huff, Tony nodded and turned to leave the room. There was no mistaking they were related.

~*~

**1:14 PM || S t a t e  O f f i c e**

This is could have ended two days ago. Tony sat, leaning back in the chair, hand covering his mouth as he pretended to pay attention to the presentation. But all he could think about was facing Bar-- _him_. Hand to hand, going in knowing he was carrying a child-- Steve’s child. And then _he_ hit him. Hard. Hard enough to send him across the room, toppling over the chairs. It would have been perfect and bitter sweet if _he_ had managed to hit him hard enough to cause a miscarriage. Maybe the fact the kid was resilient enough to survive something like that was a reason to consider going through with this. Fuck, what if he had _told_ Steve? Before Lagos? Before the airport? What if he had just come out and said it, would this have gone differently? Maybe. But then it would have gone differently because Steve would have felt bad for the damn fetus and it still would have nothing to do with Tony.

Oh, fuck. Steve was from a time where terminating a pregnancy was seriously bad. Fuck, and if Steve ever found out Tony went through with that without even telling him… But how would he _know_? He wouldn’t. Just sweep the whole thing under the rug. Make it all go away.

Every last piece of Steve he had would go away, too.

His hand dropped and he nodded blankly so no one caught on to him completely blowing off what was happening in front of him. That was the reason. Pathetic as it fucking was, it was the last good thing he had of Steve. The proof that at some point, the son of a bitch chose Tony over Ba--. At the very, very, biological basics of the whole ordeal, the child was going to be living proof that he and Steve had been together. For a shining moment before it ended with a vibranium shield lodged in his arc reactor. It would have killed him if he hadn’t had that fucking surgery. Maybe, for half a second, Steve forgot. And it was meant to kill him. To kill _them_.

Steve tried to kill him. The words, a product of his anxiety twisting and morphing the situation into the worst possible scenario, echoed in his head now; it burned there in the forefront of his mind. Steve went for the kill. Steve wanted him dead.

“Stark.” His name was hazy, like he was hearing it through cotton balls. It didn’t even register as his name; Tony was too far gone in this twisted realization. There was a pair of fingers in his face, snapping harshly and his name was said again with more urgency. “ _Stark_ , are you listening? I said we need more Avengers. New Avengers. The council is meeting tomorrow to go over some prospects, if you want a say, you better be there. Understand?”

He blinked, catching words and mentally putting them all together as he stood with a shaky nod. “Uh. Yeah. Yeah, I read ya. Loud and clear, boss. I’m still… Non-Combatant, right? I got a weak heart, probably a busted liver, I shouldn’t--” _Be carrying a child._ “Be flying around. Uh. Liability an’ all. That’s me.”

“We need you in the field, Stark. Despite the _fiasco_ that was Sokovia, you still managed to handle yourself. Until the Avengers’ numbers have been rebuilt, we need you on call and ready to lead.” Ross lifted his hand, tapping the clicker and shutting the holoscreen down. Tony considered how pissed the guy would be if he asked for him to send that presentation to him. “With Rhodes out of the picture, we need you to work the suit overtime. Is that a problem?”

“No, sir.” Tony gave him a lazy salute. He didn’t need Ross knowing about this medical condition. And he was right, Rhodes was out of commission, maybe indefinitely and that was on Tony. He had to work like hell to pick up the slack he fucking caused. “We done? I’m headin’ out.”

The meeting had almost gone smoothly, all panic induced revelations aside. But Ross cleared his throat and held his hand out to stop Tony in his tracks. “Wait, wait. In Siberia. Are you _sure_ you have no idea where Rogers and Barnes went? We worked too fucking hard to let them get away this easy, Tony.”

“I had a fucking shield in my chest, you really think he was going to stop and hand me his goddamn itinerary?”

“I was just--”

“The suit was dead weight, I couldn’t follow him, he got away, I don’t know where. And unless you decide to put me on an exclusive mission to hunt him down, I’m not looking for a single fucking thing to _do_ with the son of a bitch. Are we _done_ , now?”

He didn’t exactly wait for a response, the outburst of anger more than enough to suck every last fiber of strength he might have had reserved. What was worse was that had all been raw truth. Tony _didn’t_ want to see him. Steve didn’t have the fucking _right_ to come near him or this baby. His choice, in that moment, boiled down to two dangerous extremes. He could terminate the pregnancy, just to spite the blue eyes fucker. Or he could carry it to term and have the kid without allowing Steve anywhere near it. Which one would hurt him more?

The latter, Tony decided. And that was reason enough for him.

~*~

**5:37 PM || A v e n g e r s   C o m p o u n d**

“Let me fly the suit.”

Lifting his head from his salad, Tony threw his younger brother a look. He didn’t want to go back to Malibu, not when Pepper had texted him saying she was coming in and moving her things out. And he really didn’t want to be _here_ , where Steve’s whole bedroom was still left, pristine as the rogue boy scout left it. But his options were limited and at least here he could spend time with Rhodes. And tell him. Sherlock had been flown to the compound shortly after Pepper had texted him, and the younger Stark had little trouble settling back into the living arrangement. Tony had made the mistake of forgetting Sherlock had practically lived with Logan two floors up. “Abso-fucking-lutely not.”

“You’re short staffed and I’d lose my mind sitting here all day. I want to help.” Sherlock pressed, shifting his chair to lean closer. “Anthony, please. You can’t handle twice the load right now, you’ve a lot to consider, but let me help. I can learn the suit this weekend; I’ll make my bloody own--”

“And if Logan ever knew, he’d have my ass on a pike.” He returned to eating his salad, shaking his head.

In true Stark fashion, Sherlock huffed and leveled Tony with a stare. “I am doing this. I’ll bloody audition for the Secretary of State. It’s up to you whether you make this easier or more difficult on a pregnant man.”

Tony returned the stare. “A pregnant man asking to be put in a suit and get the shit beat out of him.”

“I’m not letting you do this alone, Anthony. Whatever you endure, I will as well.”

That was it. Those were the words he needed more than he had realized and Tony sucked in another sharp breath. Sherlock had won. The bastard. Sighing, Tony just nodded and returned to eating his salad. “First sign of a situation turning bad, you get the fuck out. You _want_ this kid, I’m still up in the air about mine.” When Sherlock didn’t respond, Tony looked at him again, brown eyes boring into him. “ _Okay_ , Sherlock?”

“Yes, yes, fine. Okay.”

“Alright. Now leave me the fuck alone, Rhodey’s coming home soon and I need to have his leg braces ready. And _someone’s_ been making me keep regular eating habits which have thrown my entire schedule out of whack.”


	3. Wants to Follow Me to Bed

**2:32 AM || A v e n g e r s  C o m p o u n d**

This was a new low, even for him.

A new, dirty, grungy, borderline disgusting low, and yet Tony stood in the doorway of Steve’s room, the Binarily Augmented Retro Framing glasses projecting _that_ night. The night this whole thing went to shit, where he made a spectacular mess out of an already bad situation. But he didn’t know then. All he cared about was getting that blue eyed poster boy in his tailored Kiton Blue Stripe pants. He loved Pepper dearly, but trying to breech the whole ‘Hey, honey, I sort of like it up the ass sometime, think you could help’ hadn’t gone very well and she was now under the impression that Tony was a closeted gay man even though the term bisexual perfectly described the situation, but whatever. So there he was, at the Avenger’s compound, escaping his mansion because Pepper was mad at him. And there Steve was, fresh off a training session, walking around his room and gathering fresh clothes to take with him to the shower room. ‘Course handsome over there would be too shy to walk around the compound in nothing but a towel. Tony was sitting on his bed, fingers pressed together –huh, Sherlock does that too-, turning his head to watch Steve move.

“So, you’re _really_ still a virgin?”

The present Tony rolled his eyes at the high school bullshit he was laying down before his very eyes. But it wasn’t like there were a whole lot of other ways to go about convincing Boy Scout Steve Rogers to start talking about sex. Not like it was something people his age openly spoke about. Fortunately, the memory Tony recognized as much and shifted to lay across Steve’s bed.

“An’ before you shut me down, as you so… often do, we’re in your bedroom. Doesn’ get more private than this. Well, until you figure out I got a camera up there.” Tony gestured with that sly little grin, soon followed by a playful giggle when Steve tossed his shirt at him. “I’m joking. I would just hack your webcam whenever you visited a porn site. What do you use? Pornhub? Tube8? Don’t tell me Spankwire, Rogers, or--”

“Art, Tony.” Steve cut him off, dropping a little black sketchbook in Tony’s lap. “That’s what I use.”

Circling around, the present Tony moved to the other side of the bed so he could see over his own shoulder, wanting to see the pictures again. Waiting rather impatiently until his memory self found the exact thing he wanted to see again. A drawing of himself, towel hung low enough on his hips that dark curls and the base of a slightly erect cock could be seen. Both Tonys blushed, and the one on the bed snapped the book shut before both sets of eyes were on Rogers. Of course the man was avoiding Tony as he grabbed a fresh towel from the closet and moved towards the door.

Perhaps, had he had alcohol or had he not been so fucking desperate, Tony might have been suave about it. But he just stood, blocking Steve’s path, swallowing hard. “Fuck me.”

Behind the glasses, Tony was almost proud. It was a good moment to be blatant, and God knew Rogers needed shit like that spelled out to him. Especially from Tony, who had dropped so many hints that had just been brushed to the side. There was a moment, Tony saw it, where Steve was about to brush this moment off as well. But in his desperation and absolute need, Tony didn’t let him. He grabbed Steve by the front of his shirt and pulled him into a hard, demanding kiss that wouldn’t leave room for confusion.

When the kiss broke, Tony stood across from the two of them, breath caught in his throat. He knew what happened next, but he was living in the moment again, taken with Steve as he so often was in their moments alone. His memory broke the silence, but tripled the tension as those words reentered the air, but this time they were vulnerable, pleading.

“ _Fuck_ me.”

Another moment of tense silence, Steve’s blue eyes flicking between Tony’s trying to find the lie, the joke. But it wasn’t there. Holding his breath, Tony watched his past self and Steve, watched as something shifted in Steve’s gaze and he pushed Tony down onto the bed, climbing on top of him. He should stop, he should shut it down, turn the glasses off. But he couldn’t. Just _seeing_ Steve’s hands on him, the way they pushed his blazer off his shoulders, untucked his shirt and drew warm hands across his skin… Tony placed his own hand on his chest, feeling the ghost of Steve’s touch as he watched them. Lips caught together, clothes pushed away, dropped to the side until Tony scrambled for his jacket again to clumsily grab the packet of lube and hand it to Steve with an almost nervous smile.

“Think you can figure it out? See, you gotta put that on your fingers and then--” Before he could finish, Steve dragged Tony back to the bed, straddling his legs as he sat up and ripped the lube packet open after some trouble. But soon slick fingers were pressed inside of Tony, and both versions of himself let out a soft gasp, but the one on the bed was dragged out into a harsh, wanting moan. Begging for more. “ _Steve_ …”

“Get a fucking condom.” Tony huffed from the present, knowing it would do no good. The damage was already done. As if in retaliation, his stomach cramped, nausea washing over him. The kid didn’t like to be thought of as damage. Cheeky little shit…

His name leaving Steve’s lips drew his attention back to the two entwined on the bed, limbs wrapping around one another as Steve eased his cock inside of him. A phantom shiver ran across their skin, but this time Tony didn’t have the warmth of Steve’s lips on his shoulders to stop the goosebumps from painting his flesh. That was enough. Tony tapped the side of the glasses, shutting the memory down before he got the instant replay of Steve inseminating him.

Steve disappeared, the lips on Tony’s throat, the arms around him, disappeared. And then Tony himself disappeared, dissolving into nothing more than a memory. And he couldn’t bring himself to rewrite it. To delete it or ignore it. How could he, when the proof of that night was festering inside of him? Ripping the glasses off, he dropped them onto Steve’s side table, sinking onto the bed and rubbing his face. He had started crying at some point. Fuck, that’s ridiculous. Crying during sex. Jesus.

Falling back onto the bed, Tony tried to will himself to get up; to go to his own room, to get the _fuck_ out of here. But instead, he rolled over, arms curling into Steve’s pillow and tugging it against him, breathing in the faint scent of Steve’s shampoo and aftershave. His tears fell without stop now, and all he could do was cling to the memory of what had happened here. To imagine there had been affection in Steve’s kiss, that Steve might have started to like him, _really_ like him.

Sleep soon overcame him, and it had been the first night Tony slept without morning sickness waking him at odd hours of the night.

It was the first night since the child was conceived, he didn’t dream.

~*~

**11:18 AM || A v e n g e r s  C o m p o u n d**

The burner phone came in later that morning. And thus put the Avenger meeting on delay, but unfortunately meant the next meeting would be Tony getting yelled at. He watched the hold button blink for another few seconds before he hung up and pulled the phone off the hook. “Disconnect the phone for a bit, Friday. Thanks.”

Leaning back in his chair, Tony laid an arm across his waist and covered his mouth with his free hand. It had become a staple position which served as protecting himself and the child. His child. God, he had to stop playing the disassociation game if he was going to keep it. What was the saying? Fathers didn’t become fathers until they hold their child? Guess Howard never learned to pick him up. Wincing, Tony shook his head. No, that wasn’t fair. His hormones were acting up; he was throwing aggression to anyone. To dead people, mainly. Because they couldn’t fight back. Yet Tony was the one feeling the blows, the one forcing air in and out of his chest as he tried to block it out.

 _If you need us- if you need_ me _. I’ll be there._

His hand moved to the phone, eyes staring at it without really seeing as he spun it across the surface of his desk. The words were almost too sweet to be true. And Tony was so far gone, so beaten that he knew better- he _knew better_ \- than to fall into this trap. To roll over so soon and say ‘You’re right cap, I was wrong’. Because at the end of the day, Steve had made his choice. And it wasn’t him. So why would Tony turn around and crawl back to a man who clearly didn’t want him. Not when he had his Bu-. Fingers pinched the bridge of his nose before he rubbed his eyes and aggravated the bruise there just to feel something; to shock himself out of another flash back he didn’t want to think about. He should send the phone back. A quick look at the box and he realized there was no return address. Yeah. Steve still didn’t trust him not to run and turn him in.

Funny, he trusted him enough not to respond to him breaking everyone out jail.

It wasn’t _their_ fault. Clint had a family to think of. Wanda didn’t deserve to be locked up. Sam just followed Steve into the worst of it. He couldn’t punish them for Steve’s wrong doing. _That_ was why he ignored the call. Not for Steve, but for the Avengers. His Avengers. Well, at least Steve got custody of _someone._

There was a muffled ‘thoom’ accompanied by a shudder that rumbled through the entire compound and Tony stood, hand grasping the phone tightly. “Friday?”

“Mr. Holmes was callibratin’ his weapons system in the lab, sir.” The woman explained over the intercom, and Tony ignored how he had sprung for the phone at the first thought of trouble. “Deploying fire extinguishers now.”

Pocketing the phone, he jogged to the stairs, moving down to the workshop and waving his hand to clear the smoke that billowed out of the open doors. Vision was already inside, handing a mask to Sherlock so he didn’t asphyxiate. “Sherlock! _Sherlock_ , what the fuck are you doing?”

“Diagnostics. I might have… Miscalculated somewhere.” Sherlock appeared far from bothered by the fact he had caused an explosion that could have easily hurt him. He laughed, hands resting on his hips as he looked towards Tony through his gas mask. “Still used to the imperial system, I suppose. How are you?”

“How… Am I? Are you fucking _nuts_?” Tony grabbed Sherlock’s shoulders, jerking him out of the smoke filled room and slamming him against the wall. “You could have killed yourself, Sherlock! I told you to _wait_ for me.”

“The matter was well in hand, Anthony; I was hardly going to kill myself--”

“You could have killed the kid. The kid _you_ wanted, remember?”

The former detective opened his mouth, sucking in a breath to retaliate but inevitably just shut his mouth and shook his head. Whatever he said, Tony was going to spin it in a way that would make it seem he was attacking the older man. So he just looked to the side, muttering a hollow ‘sorry’. An alarm sounded and the room was vented, revealing a charred mark on the ground where Sherlock had tested one of the repulsors, equipment scattered all around the room. Surveying the room, Tony sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. At least Sherlock had known to find his own work space as to not compromise any of his projects.

“Alright. Alright, come on. I need a distraction… I think we got a few days until Ross is ready to talk about the new Avengers, so we can give the suit more thought.” When his brother removed the mask, giving him a quizzical look, Tony just shook his head. “I’ll explain later. Help me clean this shit up.”


	4. Broken Pieces of...

**9:38 || W a s h i n g t o n   D . C**

“Give me one good reason not to throw you on the raft and let you rot, Stark.” Ross said, looking down at Tony who was sitting down with his hand draped over his abdomen, looking like he couldn’t give less of a shit about this very conversation. “Did you know? So help me, Stark, if you know anything.”

“Know _what_?” Tony rolled his eyes, forcing himself to sit up and closing his eyes as if that would stop the wave of nausea. “You’re the one who pulled me out of a well-deserved nap, sir. If this is about the reception at the base, I’m having it looked at, but you know how the internet companies are. Between the hours of eight and eight.”

Ross’s intense glare didn’t seem to deter Tony from his go around, and that only made the Secretary of State begin to go red in the face. “So, you are telling me you had _nothing_ to do with the break in at the raft?”

“I’m. Sorry,” Tony opened his eyes, pining the older man with an intense gaze now. “What about me implies I want to help the son of a bitch who kicked my ass the day I learned my _mother_ was killed?”

“You- “

“I told you before that I would leave your ass on hold because I like to watch the light blink.” Tony reminded him, getting up now and facing the Secretary at equal level. After everything, Tony was getting sick of people talking down to him. In any respect. “Unless you have some substantial evidence that I _was_ involved with whatever shit the fugitive pulled, I have some information about the new avengers that might interest you.”

Silence hung between them, waiting for something to give about the raft. Either for Ross to pull out concrete evidence that Tony had knowingly denied the call to help Rogers and them get away, or Tony was going to reveal Rogers gave him means to contact him. Nothing happened, and Tony just raised his eyebrows, waiting for Ross to move past the bullshit and just accuse him or move on. Fortunately, Ross moved on.

“Alright… What do ya got?”

~*~

**11:07 || N e w    Y o r k**

When Sherlock wanted to learn something, it was surprisingly easy for him to grasp. After only showing him once, Tony watched as his younger brother went about putting together his own suit. Occasionally, he would pause and ask a question, but otherwise, he managed it on his own. The same went for coding and VI integration. Sherlock insisted on making his own virtual intelligence, and Tony let him. Soon, Watson was Sherlock’s guardian angel, and he helped Friday run the compound. Friday had openly expressed her thanks for not having to be responsible for Sherlock’s less than safe experiments.

However, the natal learning was slower on both of them, and they pushed one another to learn and stay attentive to what they should know. Doctors were out of the question, neither of them trusted anyone to keep the matter from the press, and they would wait until the absolute last second to let Ross- who had approved Sherlock’s involvement with the new avengers- know. Tony had an ultrasound machine flown in and set up in the med-bay, and Sherlock taught himself to properly use and read the machine, learning he was going to have a son in a few months. The brothers monitored one another, and fed the information into their respective VI programs to run tests and analyses during confrontations, to make sure nothing drastic happened.

Fortunately they had been able to avoid confrontation until it came time to enforce the Mutant Registration Act. Then the serious backlash began. Sherlock stood on one side of the door, his suit consisting of blues and silvers, while Tony stood opposite him, donning the same red and gold suit, watching the crowd, the lines. Every so often, Tony would steal a glance towards his brother, but the Brit said nothing, and it was impossible to read his expression behind the mask. “Hey,” Tony tried. “You alright?”

“I’m fine.” But his voice was tense. Perhaps Tony was relieved Sherlock stopped the façade around him, touched that his brother trusted him enough to be _real_ with him. “Just…”

“He won’t show up here.”

Sherlock laughed weakly, looking around at the crowd again. “You don’t know Logan if you think that,”

“Summers wouldn’t let him.” Tony told him. “X-Men are peaceful, they’re keeping things… civil. Using the court to fight back. And Summers knows Logan’s wanted right now, so he wouldn’t risk him coming out of hiding.”

The only sound was the soft whir of Sherlock’s suit moving to examine his peripheral for hostiles. Or Logan. It was pointless to try and ease his anxiety, because they both knew there was a chance Logan _would_ show up. And neither of them were prepared to respond to such a situation. Tony fucking _prayed_ they didn’t need to. As they both turned for another visual sweep, both suits began to beep, flashing a warning in front of the occupants eyes.

“WARNING. WARNING. INCOMING PROJECTILE. EXPLOSIVE.” Friday and Watson informed their respective Stark and the brothers were off the ground immediately.

“I have the missile, you get the area cleared.” Tony told Sherlock, pushing himself higher and then making a straight shot for the missile. Stopping just short, Tony held out his hands to catch the missile, prepared to take it up and explode over water and away from the city. But just as it neared, it split apart, moving around Tony as if each piece was controlled separately. Stunned, Tony looked at the different pieces, taking a moment to figure out what the held kind of tech it was when the bits of metal layering suddenly attached to his arms and legs. It pulled him away, slamming him into the side of a building and shattering the glass around him. “What the f—“

 _Magneto_.

Sherlock turned as Watson warned him of another incoming missile, this one from the opposite direction, and he crouched to launch but was stopped by Tony’s strained voice. “No! Don’t, it’s a trap. Stay on the ground and blast it down, don’t let the shrapnel near you.”

Wanting to argue, but understanding there wasn’t time, Sherlock just lifted his hands and targeted the device as it swept into view. He had gotten off a repulsor blast just before one of the metal barricades was rushing towards him, knocking him off balance. Around him, frightened mutants and protestors began to scatter, while some were emboldened by the attack on the armed peacekeepers and took the advantage to rush a fallen Sherlock. As he moved to get up, the same metal barricade splintered, long bits of pipe wrapping around his wrists and ankles, slamming into the ground and keeping him there, spread out for any attack.

“Watson.” Sherlock panted, eyes wide in terror as he looked around at the oncoming mutants, powerless. “Watson, _help_.”

“Running calculations for possible escape maneuvers, sir.”

The mutant moved closer, and Sherlock struggled against the restraints, breath coming faster and faster as the outlook began to look more and more bleak. He wasn’t going to escape, the mutants were going to tear him apart, tear his child apart for defending a cause he didn’t even _support_.

Just as the mutants closed in, he was pulled up, another dissembled bit of barricade closing around the throat of his suit and tightening as he was hung in the air by his hands and legs. Watson commented on the pressure building, the suits hull and shield quickly falling, which did nothing to ease Sherlock’s growing fear. Beside him, Tony was held up beside them, showing their contained suits strung up in vulnerable positions. Like targets. They were being hung like targets.

“Look, brothers and sisters, at the sentinels they post to keep you in line as you sign away your _life_. Your _rights._ ” Erik announced, hovering above Tony and Sherlock. “They create suits to be like you, and the world cheers. Yet you were born with these gifts, these powers, and they would rather muzzle you! Register you and watch you. Strip you of your freedom. You are the danger, while these two men with their fully weaponized suits protect the _humans_ from you. You are superior to them in every way. Do not let their fear control you! Do not let them silence you! If they wish to fear you on principle, show them what they should really fear.”

Whenever either Stark made to fire a flare or a gun, the metal restraints tightened, taking out the weapon systems on their arms. The metal around their necks began to tighten as well, both suits sparking under the pressure.

“Oxygen levels destabilizing,” Watson said urgently. Sherlock closed his eyes, doing his best to keep his breath even, swallowing back the panic attack. All he wanted in that moment was to see Logan.

“Exterior integrity at 8 percent, sir.” Friday relayed as Tony was beginning to hyperventilate. Trapped. Fuck, he was trapped again. Where was Steve? _He needed Steve_.


	5. ... A Barely Breathing Story

**T W O   Y E A R S   P R I O R**

Logan wasn’t friendly. Then again, neither was Sherlock, but he was at least cordial more often than not. So, when cold machinery met a hot temper, there was steam. A lot of steam. Sherlock was circling around the edge of the training room, intent on just passing through to find his brother. Logan was… showing off, Sherlock would later categorize it. While the detective was looking one way, there was the slashed torso of a training bot thrown- very deliberately- into his path. Forced to stop at the echoing ‘thud’, Sherlock turned and looked at Logan pointedly, but the mutant just raised his eyebrows and shrugged as if he hadn’t a clue how the chunk of metal got over there.

Instead of allowing this to provoke him, Sherlock simply fixed his sleeves and stepped over the training equipment to continue on, leaving Logan staring after him. That night, as everyone was gathered around for dinner, Tony told Sherlock that Logan was convinced Sherlock thought he was better than him, and with Logan in hearing distance, Sherlock agreed he was. This set off a rather exhausting game of poke the cage between the two, waiting for the other to either yield or throw the first punch.

“What’s your deal?” Logan finally said, the first real sentence Sherlock had gotten from his contained nemesis. “I mean, are all Brits born with the Crown Jewels shoved up their ass, or...?”

“Apparently I was born American.” Sherlock corrected, sipping his tea as he continued to read the tablet Tony had provided him. Around them, the Avengers had gone quiet, listening in.

Logan huffed a noise, sitting back slightly and stretching his hands out in front of him. His posture told Sherlock this was nothing more than part of their game, that Logan was certain he was going to break the detective. “Right. The Stark bastard.”

“I wonder, does your superior know you’re in love with him, or do you just lob any insult you can think at him and hope he never catches on?” Sherlock replied smoothly, still not gifting Logan even a look in his direction. “And, building on that, where  _ does _ your inferiority complex stem from? An older brother?”

“Think they call that proje-“

“Oh, Anthony is a dream compared to my adoptive brother. Mycroft was bloody suffocating, but mind you, I  _ am _ superior to most everyone. I needn’t project it.”

Everyone was watching Logan. Everyone was waiting for him to throw the punch, or throw something to distract Sherlock while he climbed over the table. But he sat there, tongue brushing the inside of his lower lip as he considered Sherlock. “You any good at fighting?”

“Yes.”

“Good enough to put money on it?”

“Absolutely.”

“Perfect. See you in the training ring. Loser buys drinks.”

“Is  _ that _ why you’re an alcoholic?” Sherlock finally looked over at Logan, brows raised.

“Yeah.” He was granted a smirk for looking, and Logan winked as he stood. “Can’t turn down free drinks.”

~*~

**11:10 || N e w   Y o r k**

Sherlock opened his eyes, watching the interface before his eyes flash red with the warnings as the metal tightened on the suits neck, cutting into it. “Watson,” He pleaded.

**_‘SKRAZZKOOM’_ **

A flash of red light shot between the brothers, knocking Magneto down from the sky. The magnetism on the metal released and both suits began to fall before their stabilizers restarted and allowed them a safe, stumbling landing.

The moment he touched down, Sherlock stumbled out of the suit against Watson’s warnings and protests,, holding his neck. He didn’t care if he was out in the open now, he didn’t want to be trapped. Turning back to see what became of Erik, Tony pulled the slivers of metal off of him, directing Friday to divert all remaining power to demagnetize his shields. Behind them, the revolutionized mutants advanced on the now defenseless Sherlock, and the former detective stood, eyes trained on the angered protesters.

“Sherlock, we need to deescalate the situation, clear the area, keep the Registration Task Force from starting violence. I’ll handle Erik, you— Sherlock?” Tony turned around, not sure why his brother stopped responding and he noticed the empty suit several feet behind his exposed brother. “ _ Sherlock _ !”

One of the mutants had his hands opened, electricity crackling angrily between his hands as he took the initiative to move at Sherlock, hand raised to attack. Stepping back, Sherlock tried to calculate if he had the time to return to the safety of his suit. Before either attacker or victim could decide, there was a wall of ice between them, Iceman sloping around to press between Sherlock and the protestors. “Hey, Mr. Holmes.”

“Rob- Iceman.” Sherlock panted, standing erect again, looking around. “What are- Is Wolverine here?”

Bobby shook his head, watching the tension leave Sherlock’s soldiers. “He’s not with us. He told us he was going back to you, like, weeks ago.”

“ _ What _ ?”

Cyclops dropped down, moving to stand under Stark with a hand to his visor. Erik hadn’t emerged yet from the rubble Scott shot him into, but that didn’t mean he was down. “Mr. Stark, I kindly ask you to vacate the premises, we have this under control.”

“Government mandated peacekeeping, Cyclops.” Tony returned, landing beside Scott with his hands raised to subdue Erik. “Would prefer not to fight you, hope we can keep this civil.”

“We are on the same side. Sort of. Except you all think we need to be watched and collared.” Scott didn’t look at Tony, holding his ground. “Your government going to arrest us for trying to help?”

“Are you all registered?”

“Are  _ you _ ?” The ground shifted, causing the two men to quit their banter and take a step forward. “Heads up!”

“Mr. Holmes, I suggest you return to your suit.” Bobby urged, hands raised to keep the untrained mutants back and away from the exposed Avenger. “Beast! We got Magneto getting up again!”

Finding the courage to get back in the suit, Sherlock immediately ordered Watson to put all offensive powers into defensive measures.

“We need to shut down any cameras,” Tony’s voice came through the headset as soon as Sherlock was inside. “Disrupt the signal, I don’t care how. We put the X-Men at risk if Ross gets any visual of us helping them.” To cover his own ass, Tony turned and raised a hand to Scott, to make it look like he was prepared to shut him down as well in case there were cameras already rolling. Erik thrived on press, on being seen. Taking out any media would be viewed as a good call if Ross questioned it.

With a nod, Sherlock took off again, looking back as the X-Men went into action once Magneto lifted himself out of the rubble.

~*~

**T W O  Y E A R S  P R I O R**

“You were holding back.” Sherlock grumbled, finger absently circling the rim of his glass as he avoided looking at the man who bought him a drink. “I don’t understand, why were you holding back? All of that bravado about never losing a fight, and you  _ let _ me beat you,  _ why _ ?”

Logan smirked as he sat back and drank his beer in a swift chug. “I really pissed you off, didn’t I? Don’t like people who fake it, Lock?”

Sherlock finally looked at him, and it was his turn to angrily press his tongue against the inside of his lower lip. He wanted a witty come back, he wanted to keep the cold and aloof aura he had been maintaining specifically to- as Tony put it- fuck with Logan. Because he hated that smirk, he hated the way it caused his chest to flutter and his heart to pound. And furthermore, he hated how Logan could  _ hear _ his blood pressure spike, his heart beat faster. Could  _ smell _ the interest. As proud as the detective was to keep most, if not all, of his emotions hidden behind carefully constructed and unreadable masks, they simply didn’t work on Logan. So he was left there, fingernails tapping against his glass, glaring at the mutant, and all he could muster was a tight, “No, I do not.”

To which Logan’s smirk turned to a full blown grin and he leaned closer, erasing most of the space between them. “Don’t worry, Lock, next time you get me on my back, I won’t be fakin’.”

“Brilliant.” Taking a deep swig of his drink, Sherlock put the glass down a little harder than he would have liked. “Rematch then, tomorrow morning.”

“What are you doing tonight?” Despite the temper, Logan was remarkably patient with this part. Perhaps he had expected the implication to go right over Sherlock’s head, Tony had warned of his younger brothers lack of erotic interests. Logan saw it as a challenge.

“Entertaining an idiot, clearly.” Sherlock snapped, looking away again. “I shouldn’t have beaten you. As well versed in combat as I might be--”

“Lock.”

“--your mutation- your enhancements- there is no challenge, you should put me on my arse, I don’t understand why you are--”

“ _ Lock _ .”

“--holding back. What are you trying to do, how does failure benefit you at all? It’s an opportunity--”

“Sherlock.” Logan barked, tone demanding his attention.

And it worked, the Brit looked over at his companions tone, dark eyes rimmed with a fighting fire that was quickly extinguished as Logan leaned in and kissed him fully.

~*~

**11:43 AM || N e w  Y o r k**

Erik had come to prove a point. It wasn’t a battle he intended to win, but it was meant to propagate his violent intention to protest this act until the bitter end. The Stark brothers and the X-Men were holding their own against Magneto and his radicalized followers, and it might have led to an apprehension if a stray bolt from the electric mutants’ hand hadn’t hid Tony’s suit and forced a reboot.

Sensing the break, Magneto instant turned to Tony, hand jerked towards him and a flagpole swung through the air, knocking the man square in the abdomen and shooting him out of the air. 

He didn’t move, even as the suit hummed as it was powered up.

“Tony?  _ Tony _ !” Sherlock circled around, landing at a run as he approached his brother. “Anthony, say something!”

“They are humans.” Magneto declared, the detached flag pole swinging towards Sherlock as well, only to be shot off balance by Scott’s blast. “They wish to expose us, collar us. And you protect them.”

“Nothing will get better if you just prove their fear.” Scott said, jaw tight as he stood behind Sherlock, almost like he was guarding the man from further harm.

Sherlock was busy with his brother, connecting Watson to Friday and demanding a reading of his vitals. Of all vitals. He didn’t hear what more Magneto had to say, but it called off the other mutants, leaving the two suits and the X-Men gathered around them. Tony still hadn’t responded.

“Anthony. Anthony, can you hear me?  _ Anthony. _ ”


End file.
